My path from dance to bodywork

Hi, I’m Akari, and here’s a little blurb about how I stumbled into bodywork—though maybe it’s more accurate to say it found me when I needed it most.

Before this chapter of my life, I was a dancer, rooted in modern and contemporary dance. In my younger years, I competed regionally and nationally, chasing the thrill of performance and accolades. But somewhere along the way, that spark dimmed. I no longer felt the need to prove anything to anybody. I lost the joy and purpose of being on stage—and instead, I found fulfillment in helping others reconnect to their own bodies, their own unique expression. If nothing else, we all inhabit these vessels that carry us through every thought, every moment—and I became fascinated with how empowering it is to truly embrace that vessel.

My north star became guiding others toward the realization that joy, presence, and expression are always accessible—through movement, simple principles, awareness, reconnecting with ourselves. That mission led me to create retreats and one-on-one programs for those who felt disconnected from their bodies or silenced in their expression. Through these spaces, I helped people not only feel seen, but also empowered enough to create and perform their own dance pieces, born entirely from their inner creativity.

I was on the brink of taking this work to Taipei, but the pandemic hit. The face-to-face connection, the raw, imperfect magic of being in the studio, drenched in sweat and surrounded by vulnerable, courageous humans, was replaced by the cold flatness of a screen. It felt like trying to grab water. I tried to force my practice to stay alive, but the migraines, the burnout, and the grief told me the truth: it was time to let go.

Losing my art, my stability, my family, my sense of self—it was terrifying. I felt hollow and like I had failed, even though it wasn’t entirely within my control. But that’s when bodywork quietly entered my life. It wasn’t movement-based in the way I was used to—but it had parallels: somatics, touch, presence, healing.

Looking back, I see now that it was a saving grace. Picking up the shattered pieces of everything I’d worked so hard for, I began to assemble them into a different kind of mosaic mural—something even more mystifying and magical than I could have imagined. Bodywork opened doors to people and experiences I never would’ve crossed paths with in the insular world of dance. Instead of working with the same group for months on a piece, I now meet individuals from every walk of life—and beneath all the external differences, I see the same longings: to feel at ease, held, seen, belonging.

Creating that space for others in this new modality helped me piece myself back together. I realized the art I thought I’d lost could be reborn, merged in new forms, if I was willing to let go of rigid definitions and expand into the unknown.

In many ways, bodywork mirrors the process of dance. You learn the techniques. You break them down to their principles. You combine, deconstruct, reconnect—and eventually, you create something that transcends yourself. You become a vessel for something deeper, in service of others.

I feel unbelievably lucky to offer moments of safety, comfort, and connection to others during their darkest or most painful times—and to watch people emerge brighter, more loving, and more at home in their body and story. To have built a life and career that I truly love and continue to learn from every day is nothing but pure bliss.

Thank you for being part of my little voyage:)

Akari ♥